




%0 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Cliaj). Copyright No, 

— M^ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



BY 

/ 

BELLE R. HARRISON. 




NEW YORK=r== 

COPYRIQHT, tB»B, OV 

G. W. Dillingha^n Co., Publishers. 

MDCCCXCVIII. 
{All rights reserved.} 



^"t* Copy 
1898. 



'•.«/-> /^r^ n i [-^. , , 









\« V> !■ » 



THIS VOLUME OF POEMS 

IS DEDICATED 

TO MY HUSBAND, 

JOHN CALHOUN HARRISON. 



" It is a fearful stake the poet casts, 
When he comes forth from his sweet solitude 
Of hopes and songs, and visionary things 
To ask the iron verdict of the world." 

— Miss L. E. Landon. 
4 



CONTENTS. 











FACE 


A Lullaby . . . . . . • ^3 


Poesy 








15 


We May Not Know 








16 


Parson Pritchett 








18 


Hope .... 








21 


Sweet Sixteen 








23 


A Truant Lover 








25 


My Baby 








26 


The Coquette 








28 


For the Right 








29 


My Heart . 








30 


The Sleeping World 








• 33 


Ma Belle 








• 34 


Eliminate the I 








36 


The Sunny Southland 








• 39 


My Three Guests . 








• 41 


The Woodman 








• 45 


A Slumber Song 








47 


Baby's Query 








. 49 


Goldilocks . 








. 50 


Me 'n John . 








• 52 


Birds of Spring 








55 


Them Country Folks , 








• 57 



[5] 



O CONTENTS. 








PAGB 


Ingratitude . .... 60 


My Inspiration .... 






61 


The Sylvan Year . 








62 


Playing Lady, 








. 64 


In the Gloaming . 








66 


Sadder than War . 








. 68 


The Country School 








70 


Constancy 








72 


The Deef Ole Man 








• 75 


The Mud Cake 








• 78 


A Miserere 








. 80 


A Mission 








82 


A Cradle Song 








• 83 


The Summer Girl . 








86 


The Rubicon of Youth 








. 88 


Cry Baby, Cry 








. 90 


The Old Year 








92 


Unrecompensed 








. 96 


Alabama 








97 


It is Well . 








• 99 


Johnny-boy 








ICI 


The Passing of Autumn . 








. 104 


Yanita 








. 106 


The Going Man 








. 109 


Be Glad and Sing . 








112 


Impotent 








• 115 


Brain Children 








117 


My Love 








119 


An Apparition 








121 


True Greatness 








122 


De Profundis 








123 


My Lady and I 








127 


Life 






. 


129 



CONTENTS. 


7 




PAGB 


Three is a Crowd .... 


. 130 


Womanhood .... 


. 132 


InfeHce ..... 


• 133 


A Difference of Opinion . 


. 137 


The Impossible .... 


. 138 


Mabel's Grace .... 


. 139 


He Doeth All Things Well 


. 140 


The Weeping Willow 


. 142 


Teddy ..... 


. 144 


The Domain of Thought . 


. 147 



DARKY DIALECT. 



De Ole Sexton .... 


• 151 


Tobe's Reply .... 


• 153 


The Old Mammy .... 


. 154 


De 'Lection Sure .... 


, 156 


A Rat Trap .... 


. 158 


A Wrong Inference 


. 160 


A Plantation Scene 


. 161 


Uncle Jake and the Levee 


. 163 


The Descent of the Aeronaut 


. 165 


Pomp's Defense .... 


. 166 


The Darky's Heaven 


. 168 


Pars De Hat Eroun' 


. 170 



PUBLISHER'S PREFACE. 

There is an unmistakable intensity in these poems 
showing clearly an ebullition direct from the heart 
of the author. Some are grave, some are gay, 
some are phases of Southern life in clever dialect ; 
but no matter what the subject or theme, the entire 
collection is delightful. 

Many of the poems have been published before in 
various periodicals throughout the country. These 
are reproduced by permission of the editors, who 
invariably add a word of praise of the author's work. 

" The Home Journal " and the " Atlanta Con- 
stitution " extend their good wishes for the suc- 
cess of the book. Mrs. Harrison has been a con- 
tributor to both of these widely-circulating publica- 
tions. 

The editor of " Judge " says, " your contributions 
to Judge have been very popular. The little poem, 
Stole dem Breeches, (" Pomp's Defense ") was copied 
every where." The poem refers to a colored boy, 
Pomp, who is defending himself for having stolen a 
pair of breeches. It begins : 

[9] 



lO PUBLISHER S PREFACE. 

" I stole dem breeches, I 'knowledge de corn, 
But 'twant no crime ez sure cz you're born ; 
Ef de motiv' is right, den whar's de sin? 
I stole dem breeches ter be baptize' in." 

The author here shows that there are as many 
forms and degrees of right as there are personal 
points of view. 

" Mabel's Grace " appeared in " Puck." It is a 
child's poem and completely natural. 

Amongst bright stars in this galaxy, one shines 
out with especial significance for all who may read 
it. It was first published in the " New Orleans 
Times-Democrat," and is entitled " Eliminate the I." 
Here is one stanza. 

" You may not gather gold nor land. 

Nor wear a jeweled crown ; 

You may not sway the multitude. 

Nor gain a great renown ; 
But you'll always find a welcome, 
And your friends will wish you nigh, 
If you strive 

In conversation to 
Eliminate the I." 

The " Boston Transcript " published Mrs. Har- 
rison's first poem, " A Lullaby." This was set to 
music by a Boston composer. In its pages also ap- 
peared " De Profundis," " My Three Guests," and 
several others which are found in this collection. 



publisher's preface. II 

The latter is an exquisite conception, picturing deli- 
cately the entrance of Grief, Sorrow and Peace into 
the human heart. The finale runs, 

"Abide with me," I plead, " dear Lord, forgive ! 
Resigned, I do thy will, what e'er it be, 
Forgetting self, my life for others live 
And win a priceless immortality." 
That heavenly messenger, the angel Peace, 
From Grief and Sorrow brought me sweet release. 

In the prize contest for the best parody on Poe's 
'* Raven," " Current Literature " published Mrs. 
Harrison's " Rat Trap." It is the sad tale, (but 
withal, extremely funny) of a darky who went 
chicken stealing, but was caught in a rat trap and 
taken to a cell in the lock-up. He says, 

" In dat cell I still am sittin', chcwin' en tobaccer spittin', 
Honin' fur dem fat young pullets," etc. 

Nothing could be more refreshing than the simple 
yet complete manner in which this author handles 
the real. She makes use of no stilted expressions, 
and hence is always clear and convincing. Her in- 
sight into the peculiarities which make up the iden- 
tity of individuals is remarkable. Because of this, 
her characterization is fine, especially in all that con- 
cerns rural, village, and darky life in the South. 
There are pictures presented in this volume that 
should be treasured as types of that most unique 
class of humanity — the darky. 



12 PUBLISHER S PREFACE. 

Altogether the collection is charming, and must 
be so pronounced by the most critical. The range 
of subjects is wide, but none too extended for the 
author's exceptional versatility. The poems are 
most gracefully constructed, and being mainly 
domestic, are of a healthy and abiding character. 
The sentiments of the author are sound, her sym- 
pathies warm and ready, and her knowledge of man- 
ners, character, and the varied incidents of ordinary 
life so thorough, that her poems cannot be found 
other than interesting. 



POEMS. 



A LULLABY. 

CROON me a lullaby, 
Soothe me to rest. 
Pillow my tired head 

Low on your breast ; 
Pass your hand drowsily 

Over ray eyes, 
Under your gentle touch 
Restfulness lies. 

Rock to and fro with me, 
Sing sweet and low to me, 

Swinging and singing 
Will lull me to rest. 
13 



14 A LULLABY. 

Fold your arms lovingly 

Over my heart, 
Sorrow will glide away, 

Trouble depart. 
Quietly resting, 

My senses beguiled, 
I'll peacefully sleep 

Like a worn-out child. 

Rock to and fro with me. 
Sing sweet and low to me. 
Hushaby, lullaby, 
Soothe me to rest. 

Smiling and dreaming, 

Bright visions unfold, 
The stars, intermingling. 
Weave fancies in gold ; 
The hum of the busy world, 
- Freighted with care, 
Will fade out in slumber like 
Mist from the air. 

Rock to and fro with me, 
Sing sweet and low to me. 
Hushaby, lullaby, 
Soothe me to rest. 



POESY. 

A FLOATING, fleecy cloud of poesy 
Swept o'er ray soul, and broke in dulcet song ; 
The music rose and fell in rhythmic flow, 
By prattling echo lightly borne along — 
With love the theme, love over all supreme, 
The light of every heart, the poet's dream. 

Will other clouds of poesy arise 

Like haloes round my head, or misty veil ? 
Or will they drift afar, like summer clouds, 

Nor heed the yearning cry, the pleading wail! — 
On wings aerial sailing swiftly by, 
Like phantom ships to reach the upper sky. 

15 



WE MAY NOT KNOW. 

A FRAGILE figure robed in costly gown, 
Reclines on snowy pillow soft as down. 
No tinge of color mantles brow or cheek, 
Too wan to smile, too weak to move or speak 
The wasted hands like waxen lilies lie, 
The pallid lips breathe forth a plaintive sigh. 
She views her weeping friends with dimming sight, 
At even-tide her spirit wings its flight. 

At even-tide, within a hovel bare. 
Where fever's fetid breath pollutes the air 
Upon a bed of straw a beggar lies, 
No loving friends are near to sympathize. 
She mutters broken words and snatches low, 
She feebly moans and tosses to and fro. 
At even-tide the restless soul is free, 
Within the confines of eternity, 

j6 



WE MAY NOT KNOW. 1/ 

The child of wealth, was her soul pure and fair 

A precious jewel in a casket rare ? 

The beggar maid, was her soul dark within, 

Stained and discolored by defiling sin ? 

The rich are tempted and the poor are tried. 

Lusts of the flesh must needs be crucified. 

We may not know — sealed is the book of fate — 

If one or both shall enter Heaven's gate. 

Each sin resisted and each trial met, 
The stifling of a sigh or vain regret, 
Each tender thought, each sympathizing word, 
A loving heart by others' sorrow stirred — 
These things above all mere conditions rise, 
Like fragrant incense mounting to the skies. 
The Judge of all, who marks a sparrow's flight. 
Weighs human motives, thoughts, and deeds aright. 



PARSON PRITCHETT. 

IT was at protracted meetin', an' the country 
church was jammed, 
Eve'y pew was overflowin', an' the amen corners 

crammed. 
We was all a feelin' jubous, mighty solemn-like an' 

still. 
While the parson banged the pulpit tell he shuck 
the winder-sill. 

His hair was white as cotton, but he h'isted eve'y 

song — 
His skin it hung in wrinkles, but his lungs was good 

and strong — 
He said we all was sinners, but that when we come 

to die. 
We'd 'spect the Lord to furnish us a chariot from on 
high ; 

i8 



TARSON PRITCHETT. ' 1 9 

Or send us down a palace car to bear our souls 
away, 

When a hand car was sufficient for sich people any- 
day ; 

'At we all was mean as gar-broth to resist the 
Sperit's call, 

Just to walk up to the mourners' bench, an' on our 
knees to fall, 

An' pray to be forgive for all the meanness we had 

done, 
we broke the Lord's commandments from the 

dawn tell set of sun. 
Then the choir it bust out singin', an' some sister 

raised a shout, 
She flopped her hands above her head an' let her 

voice ring out. 

Then the sinners 'gun to leave the pews like rats 

a burnin' house, 
An they kneeled down at the altar jest as still as 

any mouse, 
When some women from the city 'at was settin' 

nigh the door, 
They jumped up on the benches jest to see a little 

more. 



20 PARSON PRITCHETT. 

One was lawyer Hobson's daughter, one a school 

marm, Nellie Brown, 
Ernother was a sister of the jestice of the town. 
But the parson spied them standin' dressed as fine 

as for a ball, 
An' he said, " You city Jezebels, jest set down one 

an' all. 

Profanin' of God's temple — you're as homely as 

you're mean ! 
God Almighty'dmade you handsome ef he'd wished 

you to be seen." 
I tell you what them highferlutes they stepped 

down on the floor. 
Then hitched arms with some city chaps an' 

marched out frough the door. 
They had come down for a frolic, so we boys had 

he'erd 'em say, 
But ole Parson Pritchett nailed 'em an' I guess 

they'll stay away. 



HOPE. 

WHEN all the world is dark and drear 
And stoutest hearts are weak with fear, 
When heavy clouds obscure the light 
And life seems an eternal night — 
Then Hope uplifts a banner high 
And points them to the upper sky. 
Atween the rifted clouds behold 
The sunshine sifts like grains of gold ! 

O weary hearts that sigh for rest, 
O bruised hearts by care oppressed, 
The way is dark, the time is long, 
A wail the burden of your song — 
No longer mourn, sweet Hope is nigh 
To point you to the upper sky, 
Atween the rifted clouds behold 
The sunshine sifts like grains of gold ! 

21 



22 HOPE. 

Celestial Hope ! speak words of cheer, 
The parting- clouds will disappear, 
The rising sun dispel the night 
And flood the world with blessed light. 
Uplift, uplift your banner high 
And point men to the upper sky. 
Atween tlie rifted clouds behold 
The sunshine sifts like grains of gold. 



SWEET SIXTEEN. 

HAVE you seen a winsome girlie with eyes of 
limpid blue, 
With lips as fresh as cherries red impearled with 

morning dew ? 
She lightly laughs with childish glee or breathes 

a gentle sigh, 
There is danger in her dimple, there is mischief 
in her eye. 

Bonnie, bonnie girlie, 
Girlie fair and sweet, 
With beating heart and ardent hope, 
I worship at her feet. 

Have you seen a dainty girlie whose rippling 

locks agleam 
Nor caught by comb or Psyche knot o'er snowy 

shoulders stream ? 
23 



24 SWEET SIXTEEN. 

Enmeshed by tresses spun of gold, a captive heart 

avers, 
Ah who would sigh for liberty when love a bosom 
stirs ? 

Witching, witching girlie, 

Girlie fair and sweet, 
Her lily hand in mine would make 

A happiness complete. 

Have you seen a modest girlie whose blushes 

come and go 
Like apple petals lightly tossed when sportive 

zephyrs blow ? 
She is graceful as Titania when tripping in the 

dell, 
My heart with love is throbbing as I own her 
magic spell. 

Dearie, dearie girlie. 
Girlie sweet and fair, 
The image of her winsome face 
Is graven everywhere. 



A TRUANT LOVER. 

BOVE a lily's chalice flashed 
An ardent humming bird avvhirring ; 
On poised wings he nectar sipped, 
The lily's waxen petals stirring, 
Then thrilling 'neath his fervid kiss, 
She waked to love's ecstatic bliss. 

But sated with acquired sweets, 

This wanton flirt and reckless rover, 

Now skims the verdant meadows o'er 
And blithely wooes the blushing clover. 

The lily's trusting heart may yearn, 

Her fickle love will ne'er return. 
25 



MY BABY. 

A CUNNING mite in robes of white, 
All lace embroidered o'er ; 
With tiny feet, so dimpled sweet, 

That never press the floor ; 
With wreathed smiles and baby wiles, 

With mischief brimming o'er — 
" Ah no, ah no, it is not so, 
I sadly fear you do not know 
My baby." 

He pulls your hair nor does he care 
How much the pain may be, 

He waves his hands like fairy wands 
And jumps and crows with glee. 

He loudly weeps, then gently sleeps, 
Upon his mother's Icnee — 

" Ah no, ah no, why vex me so ? 

You surely, surely do not know 
My baby." 
26 



MY BABY. 27 

A sailor brave who rules the wave, 

Nor fears the ocean's roar, 
He's kind and true with eyes of blue 

That twinkle evermore. 
He loves his home though he may roam 

Upon a distant shore — 
" Ah yes, ah yes, come now, confess, 
Unless you knew how could you guess 
My baby ? 

" Though winds may tan this bearded man, 

And time may furrows plow ; 
Though life's rude shocks bring silver locks 

To crown his noble brow ; 
Though years may go and come, I know 

He'll still remain as now 
On land or sea he'll ever be, 
From time until eternity, 
My baby." 



THE COQUETTE. 

SHE laughs, the dimples come and go, 
She laughs, like rippling waters' flow, 
She laughs, but not at me ; oh no ! 

She smiles, the world is bright and fair. 
She smiles, my heart is light as air. 
She smiles, on me — I do declare ! 

She loves, ah would you like to know ? 
She loves, her sweet lips told me so. 
She loves — she loves red-headed Joe ! 

She weds, Joe's heart and mine beat fast^ 
She weds, we really are aghast ! 
She weds Old Moneybags at last! 
28 



FOR THE RIGHT. 

LET US stand for the right, whatever betide, 
Though friends may forsake us and foes may 
deride. 
Let us put on the armor and fight the good fight, 
Enlist in the struggle for right over might. 

Let us stand for the right though trials beset, 
Upholding a cause we can never regret ; 
Though sharp is the conflict and dangers assail. 
At last we will triumph, for right will prevail. 

Let us stand for the right, the noble, the true. 
These watchwords are potent to carry us through ; 
When tempted or tried, never falter nor fail. 
The darts of the enemy cannot avail. 

Let us stand for the right, no matter how long, 
The future will show us right overcomes wrong. 
As a pillar of strength then steadfastly stand, 
Resisting the evil that dwells in the land. 

29 



MY HEART. 

MY heart is like a prisoned bird 
That frets its wings without avail 
Its joyous song- no more is heard 

That gladdened every hill and dale. 
It flutters here and there, and chirps 

A note half-hearted and distressed ; 
It beats its head, which only serves 

To mar the beauty of its crest. 
Impatient of confinement drear, 
Its mournful lay is sad to hear. 



My heart is like a tender plant 

That gropes along a basement wall ; 

Its tendrils, like long slender arms. 
Reach impotently forth — to fall ; 

Its pallid leaves, and fragile stem, 
Its droopiug form — all pine for light ; 
30 



MY HEART. 3 1 

Within those gloomy walls encased, 
Where noonday sun is semi-night, 
It withers for the sight of day. 
And breathes its life in sighs away. 

Uncage the bird, like arrow swift 

From bended bow, it wings its flight ; 
And in the heaven's ethereal blue 

Its prison home is lost to sight. 
As down the glen is often heard 

A bubbling streamlet's joyous notes, 
So on the air, from throat of bird, 

A strain of heavenly music floats. 
Its gratitude is sweetly trilled, 
O bird, your mission is fulfilled ! 

Transport the plant, and let it grow 

Where sunshine may its branches warm, 
And let the healthful breezes blow, 

And night dews kiss its blighted form — 
A bloom appears by magic art, 

Its loveliness no tongue can tell. 
The bird drinks nectar from its heart, 

The bee sips honey from its bell, 
The sweetest fragrance is distilled, 

Bright flower, your mission is fulfilled ! 



32 MY HEART. 

Remove the barriers that bind 

My heart and let me freedom gain ; 
The darkness of my soul illume 

And never more will I complain. 
An altered look Life's book will wear, 

No longer blotted o'er with tears, 
Duty and pleasure sweetly blent 

Upon each shining page appears. 
With noble deeds my heart is thrilled, 

At last, my mission is fulfilled ! 



THE SLEEPING WORLD. 

THE world is asleep, all the cares of the day 
In the caverns of darkness are folded away. 
The murmuring winds have lulled her to rest, 
The billows have rocked her to sleep on its breast. 
The tree tops are crooning a soft lullaby 
While silvery stars shed a luster on high. 
The clouds like a canopy o'er her are spread. 
The zephyrs are cooling the air overhead, 
An infinite calm is breathed forth on the night, 
And hovers around in the mellow moonlight. 
The weary world sleeps, let h6r slumber at will. 
While night holds its breath, and all nature is still, 

33 



MA BELLE. 

FOR your eyes of heavenly hue, 
Heather bhie-bells steeped in dew, 
In whose depths my mirrored self 
Smiles at me like tiny elf, 
I dearly love you. 

For your braided silken hair 
Waving from a forehead fair. 
Like the gossamer in sheen, 
Like a poet's dream, I ween, 
I dearly love you. 

For your lips of perfect mold, 
Rosebuds ere they quite unfold, 
When they smiling ope to speak. 
Dancing dimples star the cheek, 
I dearly love you. 
34 



MA BELLE. 35 

For your hands like lilies fair 
Breathing perfume on the air, 
For the gentle, timid clasp 
In my warm, impassioned grasp, 
I dearly love you. 

These are charms like flowers sweet. 
But alone — are incomplete — 
For your heart and mind, ma belle, 
Where the Christian graces dwell, 
I dearly love you. 



J 



ELIMINATE THE I. 

You may not gather gold nor land, 
Nor wear a jeweled crown ; 
You may not sway the multitude, 
Nor gain a great renown ; 
But you'll alv/ays find a welcome, 
And your friends will wish you nigh. 
If you strive 
In conversation to 
Eliminate the I. 

Your home is like a palace. 
And your wife is hard to beat ; 
Your sons are modern Chesterfields, 
Your daughters passing sweet : 
Without your aid, I truly think. 
These things your friends descry — 

So no matter what 

You talk about, 

Eliminate the I. 
36 



ELIMINATE THE I. 37 

Say your neighborhood is charming, 

Or exactly the reverse, 

Discuss the latest german 

And its mazy steps rehearse ; 

Say grown up people fume and fret, 

Say babies always cry — 

But no matter what 

You talk about, 

Eliminate the I. 

Say Easter dresses will be trimmed 

In pleats or bias fold. 

The wind is shifting to the west, 

To-morrow will be cold ; 

You may talk on any subject 

Underneath the arching sky- 
But no matter what 
You talk about, 
Eliminate the I. 

You may worship high officials 
Or declare their course is wrong- 
Shall a few men rule a nation, 
When rights to all belong ? 
You may preach about the tariff, 
Lauding low, condemning high— 



38 ELIMINATE THE I. 

But no matter what 
You talk about, 
Eliminate the I. 

Dost hope to be a Talleyrand ?— 

A diplomat to be ? — 

Then treasure this advice— 'twill prove 

Invaluable to thee. 

The rule is imiversal, 

Will to every case apply — 

No matter what 

You talk about, 

Eliminate the I. 



THE SUNNY SOUTHLAND. 

IN our sunny Southland 
Balmy breezes blow, 
Verdant fields ashimmer 
Waving to and fro. 
Luscious fruits depending, 
Whose blush is like the dawn, 
From May till chilling Autumn 
Proclaims the summer gone. 
Merry birds sing sweetest. 
Dancing hours are fleetest, 
In the sunny Southland — 
Elysium of the blest. 

Rifted clouds revealing 
Arching skies of blue ; 

Hearts are warm and tender, 
Friends are leal and true. 
39 



40 THE SUNNY SOUTHLAND. 

Purple twilight shadows 

Speak quiet to the soul ; 
Where gleams the mystic moonlight 
Fond lovers often stroll. 

Loving hearts will meet thee, 
Smiling faces greet thee, 
In the sunny Southland, 
A welcome waits for thee. 

Mellow sunlight lingers, 

The beams are beaten gold ; 
The riches of our Southland 
In verse can ne'er be told. 
Creamy Vv'hite magnolias 
Breathe forth a sweet perfume, 
The queenly rose and myrtle 
In rarest colors bloom. 

Come to the land of flowers, 
Come to its sylvan bowers, 
Come to the sunny Southland — 
This garden spot of ours. 



MY THREE GUESTS. 

GRIEF. 

A STORM is raging and a fierce wind blows, 
While awesome peals of thunder rend the 
air ; 
Like darting tongues of flame the lightning throws, 

Below and overhead, a lurid glare. 
Who is it breasts the angry wind and rain 
And hies with frighted steps across the plain ? 

A being weird and wild, with look of woe. 

With garments torn and drifting with the 
gale; 
Whose flowing locks in great disorder show 

An eager, haggard face that's deathly pale. 
The frantic accents and the falling tears, 
Together fill my heart with nameless fears. 

41 



42 MY THREE GUESTS. 

With garments dripping- from the beating rain, 
It wrings its hands and paces to and fro ; 

Tlien cries aloud and sobs in bitter pain, 

" Repel me not, though harbinger of woe." 

I cannot bid a welcome, well I know 

When once within, it never cares to go. 

Oh, Grief unbidden, aye and undesired, 

Unwelcome visitor ! untimely guest ! 

My brain is reeling and my soul is fired, 

While bitter thoughts are v>'arring in my 
breast. 

Despair, like bird of evil omen preys, 

Destroying rest at night and happy days. 

SORROW. 

There came another guest unto my door. 

The day was coldly bleak and sadly drear, 

The drifting snow was lying on the moor. 

And from the eaves there dripped anon a 
tear. 

Before this guest, Grief made a hasty flight, 

And through the barren waste was lost to sight. 

A sad-eyed woman entered in the door. 

With trailing robes of sober, sombre gray ; 



MY THREE GUESTS. 43 

With lagging- steps and weary feet and sore, 

She looked a wounded deer who stood at 

bay. 
Distressing plaints she heaved and deep-drawn 

sighs, 
While tears were welling in her mournful eyes. 

I could not bar her entrance to my room, 

My lonely heart gave echo to her sighs ; 

Though feeling that a deep, abiding gloom 

Had settled on my home as daylight dies. 

Ah, Grief prepared the way for Sorrow drear, 

I fold her to my breast without a fear. 

Though days may come, may go, I do not care, 
My mem'ry feeds upon the buried past. 

Indifference succeeding grim despair, 

While dark funereal shadows gather fast. 

When wounds are deep and bitter to be borne 

As long as life may last the scars are worn. 

PEACE. 

A gentle calm had brooded through the day. 

The night is peaceful as a child in sleep, 

Disquiet and unrest had passed away, 

While loving stars their ceaseless vigil keep. 



44 MY THREE GUESTS. 

The silver moon, with mellow light serene, 

Sits on her high-arched, heavenly throne a queen. 

Was Sorrow gone ? each room I careful scanned, 
I looked in vain some trace of her to find ; 

When lo ! an angel clasped my trembling hand 

And said, " Rejoice, I bring you peace of 
mind. 

Poor suffering heart, look up and humbly pray, 

There dawns for you a brighter, better day." 

To souls all tempest-tossed by waves of grief 

The Master cries, in tender voice, " Be 
still ;" 

From Sorrow's thrall he sends a sure relief 

To hearts that bow submissive to his will. 

O stricken one. He saith, who knowest best, 

" Come unto me and I will give you rest." 

" Abide with me !" I plead, " Dear Lord, forgive ! 

Resigned, I do thy will what e'er it be, 
Forgetting self, my life for others live 

And win a priceless immortality." 
That heavenly messenger, the angel Peace, 
From Grief and Sorrow brought me sweet release. 



THE WOODMAN. 

''TT^HE woodman in clearing the forest 
I Labors witli patience and skill ; 

Swinging the axe with his brawny arms, 
And strength of a dauntless will. 

No towering tree in the woodland 

Is felled by a single blow — 
By countless strokes it totters and falls 

To the sounding earth below. 

The axe and the wedge and heavy maul 

Are plied by a master hand, 
Till out of the gloom and the shadow 

Emerges the new cleared land. 

The world is a forest before us — 

We hew our way to the light, 
With the axe and wedge of power and skill 

Fearlessly wielded aright. 

45 



46 THE WOODMAN. 

Obstructions barring- our progress 
By repeated blows are felled, 

Till the sunlight smiles in approval, 
The darkness and gloom dispelled. 

We must ne'er look back to the starting. 
Nor swerve to the left or right, 

But work with resolute arm and will. 
Hewing our way to the light. 



A SLUMBER SONG. 

SLEEP, my darling ! Stars are peeping, 
Gently slumber without fear ; 
Butterflies and red-top clover 

In the darkness disappear. 
Kitty purrs in drowsy measure, 

Bunny to his hole has fled, 
E'en the cricket chirrups fainter, 
As I watch beside your bed. 

Sleep, my darling, whilst the shadows 
Softly steal o'er wood and field ; 
By the dusky robes of evening 

All your playmates are concealed. 
Fold your arms, like wings of birdling. 
Tuck your head and still your voice ; 
Till the morning clothed in splendor 
Bids the silent earth rejoice. 
47 



48 A SLUMBER SONG. 

Sleep, my darling, do not waken 

Till the golden arrows fly ; 
And the sunbeams kiss your eyelids 

As a luster fills the sky; 
Till the morning-glory blossoms 

Swift unfold to greet the day, 
And the dew-drops glint and sparkle 

On the flowerets bright and gay. 

You will then be fresh and winsome 

As a rosebud bathed in dew, 
Like a lark, be full of music 

As your frolics you renew. 
Then, with carol glad and gleesome, 

Fill the air with music sweet, 
Till the halls and rooms re-echo 

With the sound of dancing feet. 



BABY'S QUERY. 

«< T Esus, lover of my soul, 

I Let me to thy bosom fly," 
«k^ Crooned a mother soft and low 
As a soothing^ lullaby. 
" I know what's er butterfly," 

The drowsy baby made reply, 
" I caught one once er skimmin' by, 
But tell me — what's er bosomfly ?" 
49 



GOLDILOCKS. 

EWARE of the snare of goldilocks ! 
What mischief was wrought to heart of man, 
What trouble brought with danger fraught, 
By goldilocks since the world began. 

Goldilocks ever are sirens fair, 

Combing their tresses both long and well, 
Of their luring smiles and wiles beware ! 

They mesh the heart in a magic spell. 

For flowing locks of a burnished gold 

That glint and gleam with an amber light, 

Like jeweled eyes of the serpent old, 

Ensnare the heart, but the soul affright. 

Or hidden away in graceful curves 

Of a coiled fold, is Cupid bold, 
Who wings a dart that will pierce a heart, — 

O, danger lurks in a nest of gold. 
50 



GOLDILOCKS. 5 1 

E'en mermaids swaying- on crested waves 

And plaiting garlands of precious pearls 
To braid in their sun-kissed goldilocks, 

Will weave your heart in their wealth of curls. 

O flee, ere you sleep in the briny deep ! 

They beckon you on with arms of snow, 
Then laugh as the waters o'er you flow, 

Chanting a requiem sweet and low. 

Beware of the snare of goldilocks ! 

What mischief was wrought to heart of man, 
What trouble brought with danger fraught, 

By goldilocks since the world began. 



ME 'N JOHN. 

N' igh erbout ten year ago this 
Comin' May, — 
O I niver kin forgit the 

Blessed day, — 
Me 'n John wuz ridin' long, 
En — I wonder ef 'twas wrong — 
In er warm en narrer prisen 
My han' lay inside er hissen. 



The dog-wood platters shone ez 

White ez snow ; 
The ole man's beard wuz wavin' 

To en fro. 
Me 'n John wuz mighty still 
Ez the grey mare clum the hill, 
En he whispered, edgin' nigher, 
** Won't you p'int the day, Maria ?" 
52 



ME 'N JOHN. 53 

The honey-suckle blushed er 

Rosy red ; 
The trumpet-flower hearn the 

Words he said. 
Me 'n John wuz fur erway 
Frum the worl' that blessed day ; 
Jess us two — en birds en flowers — ■ 
While the minutes grew to hours. 

'Taint no matter ef it is er 

Growin' late, 
When two happy hearts tergether 

Palpertate. 
Me 'n John was still ez mice, 
But we dwelt in paradise. 
Sperits lighter than er feather, 
Ez we jogged erlong tergether. 

Nigh erbout ten year ago this 

Comin' May,— 
I kin smell them flowers like it 

Wuz ter-day. 
Me 'n John hev joy en woe, 
Pain en pleasure ez we go ; 
But life's trials we kin weather 
Whilst our hearts is boun' tergether. 



54 ME 'N JOHN. 

Granny's grave lies over yonder 

On the hill, 
En our cripple boy is nigh her, 

Col' en still. 
Me 'n John, when work is done, 
Kneels down thar at set er sun. 
Ez the breese goes floatin' by us, 
Pears ter us like they is nigh us. 

But we couldn't 'spect ter live 
Withouten sorrer ; 
We kin never count erpon er 

Comin' morrer. 
Me 'n John knowed it wuz best 
When them suff'rers went ter rest. 
God tuck back what he had given, 
Fur ter dwell with Him in heaven. 

Nigh erbout ten year ago this 

Comin' May, — 
Now er gang er chillen roun' us 

Romp en play. 
Me 'n John is happy still 
Ez when the grey mare clum the hill 
En he whispered, edgin' nigher 
*' Won't you p'int the day, Maria ?" 



BIRDS OF SPRING. 

CHEERILY, merrily, heralds of Spring, 
Carol your melodies, poised on the wing-. 
Pour from your slender and velvety throats 
Ravishing strains of musical notes. 
Tiny, bright songsters, dainty and sweet, 
First in the morning your Maker to greet. 
His praises you warble on hill-top and plain 
Till jubilant nature repeats the refrain — 

Your happiness trilling. 

With melody filling, 

Filling and thrilling 

Our hearts with delight. 

Building your nests in leafy-screened bowers, 
Sipping the sweets that well in the flowers. 
Laving your wings in the clear, limpid stream, 
Drinking the waters that sparkle and gleam, 
Swaying on tree-top or pillowed at rest — 

55 



56 BIRDS OF SPRING. 

Contented with life if barren or blest — 

A message of gladness and brightness you bring ; 

We welcome your coming, sweet heralds of Spring. 

Your happiness trilling, 

With melody filling, 

Filling and thrilling 

Our hearts with delight. 



THEM COUNTRY FOLKS. 

<« -x "C THY, hello, Jim McCracken, 

W Come, shake er finger, do ; 
Whar hev you kep' yose'f, I say, 

En me er huntin you ? 
I've got er invite fur us both — 

I 'low you'll want ter go — 
Frum them two gals we met las' spring 

At Roberson's side show. 
When they know that folks is comin', 

Them people — so I've hearn — 
With er broom-sedge broom they sweep the 
5''ard, 

En they murder er chicken en churn. 

"The cross-eyed one is youen's. 

En the freckled face is mine. 
Behin' them two mules, Buck en Bill, 

We'll git out thar by nine. 
Jus' dress up in yo' Sunday best ; 

Put on yo' Cleveland hat, 
57 



58 THEM COUNTRY FOLKS. 

Them yaller shoes with p'inted toes, 

Yo' poky dot cravat. 
When they know that folks is comin', 

Them people — so I've hearn — 
With er broom-sedge broom they sweep the 
yard, 

En they murder er chicken en churn." 

They found them gals at meetin'; 

Their beaux wuz settin' nigh ; 
Two country chaps, that looked like Japs, 

Er castin' uv sheep's eye. 
•' La, Mister Bob en Mister Jim," 

They 'lowed when church wuz through, 
" Come home en hev er bite with us, 

En spen' the evenin', do." 
When they know that folks is comin', 

Them people — so I've hearn — 
With er broom-sedge broom they sweep the 
yard. 

En they murder er chicken en churn. 

They driv behin' them couples 

Fur better than five mile — 
The gals would snicker and laugh out — 

They couldn't crack er smile. 



THEM COUNTRY FOLKS. 59 

They kep' behin' the crowd all day, 

It made 'em fume and fret, 
Them hill-ites hed the inside track, 

En they kep' it too, you bet. 
Both the gals wuz mighty cordial — 

Them country folks, I've hearn. 
When they know that comp'ny's comin', 

They murder er chicken en churn. 

They shuck their ban's at partin', 

En hoped they'd come ergin. 
Them city chaps, they 'lowed they would — 

Them hill-ites gin er grin. 
They driv on home without er word, 

Fur, stranger, they wuz mad, 
Ter cut er dash, en make no mash, 

It sholy wuz too bad. 
Them city chaps don't keer no more 

Fur country folks, I've hearn, 
That sweep the yard with er broom-sedge 
broom. 

En murder er chicken en churn. 



INGRATITUDE. 

WHEN burdened by a load of care, 
How many kneel in fervent prayer ; 
And yet forget to render praise 
When blessings crown the after days. 
Receiving all, they nothing give, 
Content as parasites to live. 
60 



MY INSPIRATION? 

A LOVELY woman, like the eglantine 
Blooming in arid plain, 
In whom all gracious gifts combine, 

Devoid of every stain — 
Possessing soul as pure as snowy dove 
That circles in the arching blue above. 

Her heavenly gifts, like sparkling rainbow hues, 

The bow of promise form, 
Renewed hope in doubting hearts infuse 

To meet life's fiercest storm ; 
Her graces, like prismatic hues, unite 
To form a perfect whole of spotless white. 
6i 



THE SYLVAN YEAR. 

BEHOLD the bards are sighing 
That the sylvan year is dying- 
Let her die ! 
Lo, for many hundred years, 
On as many hundred biers, 
We've seen her lie. 

The bards and year both lie, 
Ananias-like they try 

This little game. 
You may hit her with a brick. 
You may pound her with a stick. 

Yet all the same — 

When the trees put on their green, 
Then the sylvan year is queen, 

Young and spry. 
Like the principles of truth. 
Or the wandering Jew, forsooth. 
She cannot die. 
62 



THE SYLVAN YEAR. 63 

Though the sobbing winter rain 
Dribbles forth a sad refrain, 

Yet what of that ? 
The sylvan year contrives 
To have as many lives 
As a cat. 

Oh, she will live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree, 

This sylvan year ; 
And with the insect-powder man 
And the patent motor fan, 

Reappear. 



PLAYING LADY. 

I WANT to p'ay lady, dear mamma, 
Does you tare if I put on your jess ? 
An' fan wid your fan jus' a little, 

O p'ease, mamma, won't you say yes ? 

I'll be jus' as tickler as tan be 

An' pin the long twail up before. 
P'ease tuck up my turls wid a hair pin, 

An' the wibbon you buyed from the 'tore. 

I dressed her up fine — as she wished me — 
And smiled at her dignified mien, 

Then stooped down and kissed the wee- 
midget, 
Who carried herself like a queen. 

As she paced to and fro, just before me 
Her lengthy trail sweeping the floor, 

I thought what a quaint little woman, 
Is Mabel, whose summers are four. 
64 



PLAYING LADY. 65 

But a pucker disfigured her features, 

And her dimples were lost in a frown, 

As she came and stood meekly beside me. 
And said as she shyly glanced down ; 

" Does ladies go bare-footed, mamma ? 

Dey'd be 'shamed of dey selves if dey did, 
I'll put on my shoes in a minute 

An' den my bare foots will be hid." 

So she seated herself on the carpet 
And put on a stocking and shoe, 

With the other in hand, naively asking, 

" Now mamma dear, what mus' I do ?" 

I glanced down to gather her meaning, 
A puzzled look clouded her face ; 

Then lifting her brown eyes she added 
With a look full of infantile grace : 

*' Which foots does this udder shoe b'long on ?' 
" Why sweet, are you asking for fun ?'" 

" O no, I had weally fordotten. 

It b'longs on the bare headed one." 



IN THE GLOAMING. 

THE leaves are sere and turning brown, 
And swirling as they tumble down ; 
The dusky smoke from archway flies 
In curls and waves athwart the skies ; 
The summer clouds of rarest blue, 
To sombre grey have changed their hue ; 
The boughs are bending on the trees 
And swaying with each passing breeze ; 
A mournful sound is in the air, 
An ululation of despair ; 
The dreary rain begins to fall, 
Which throws an added gloom o'er all. 

Dame Nature weeps o'er glories fled, 
Evanished beauties — beauties dead. 
The lovely buds and blossoms gay. 
With winter's chill have passed away ; 
The music of the joyous bird 
66 



IN THE GLOAMING. 67 

In bush and tree, no more is heard. 

The wailing wind and sobbing rain 

Alone are voiced upon the plain. 

And shall I sing in joyous strain, 

With lips benumbed and heart in pain, 

A paean glad, an anthem loud. 

While vanished hopes are in their shroud ? 

The hopes of youth forever fled. 

My early friends now lost or dead — 

For them I sigh and sadly mourn. 

My aching heart for them is torn. 

I cannot sing a gladsome note, 

'Twill die before it leaves my throat. 

My frozen heart can but essay. 

A solemn dirge — a mournful lay. 

Then welcome night, that screens from sight 

The barren waste — the winter's blight. 

Within thy folds of sable hue, 

I'll hide my tired heart from view. 



SADDER THAN WAR. 

A SOLDIER, though way-worn and weary 
From the tiresome march of the day, 
Steadily toils till the wee sma' hours, 
Painfully stitching away. 

His thoughts are with Nell and the children. 

As his needle he patiently plies, 
Darning great rents in his trousers, 

While tear drops are dimming his eyes. 

His comrades are sleeping around him 
And peacefully dreaming of home, 

Of the time when the war will be ended 
And no longer they sadly will roam. 

He nods, keeping time with his needle 

That sailor-like goes in and out, 
And the rents in the trousers are mended 

When he hears a far sentinel shout. 
68 



SADDER THAN WAR. 69 

"To arms, boys, the foe is advancing !" 

The soldiers respond to the call. 
In a twinkling the camp is confusion, 

As they hasten to conquer or fall. 

" Howly Moses, my breeches, who's got 'era ?" 
Swears Mike, at the vexing delay, 

"Arrah, here's the spalpeen I'm afther," 
And jerks the darned trousers away. 

Ah, sadder than war is the story — 

That soldier so weary and worn, 
Had mended the Corporal's trousers, 

While his own remained ragged and torn. 



THE COUNTRY SCHOOL. 

ALONG the woodland path where flowers blow, 
Where lichens, ferns and hooded mosses grow. 
Where robin redbreasts peep from branches tall, 
And autumn leaves in rich profusion fall ; 
Along this path, with weeds and grass o'er-grown, 
Where hide the sweetgum burr and fragrant cone, 
A little band of eager girls and boys 
Awake the sleeping echoes with their noise. 

Adown this woodland path the beech and bay- 
Are clustered round a house where ivies stray, 
Above the door is graceful columbine, 
And on the air a breath of muscadine. 
The partridge lifts its head and whirs away. 
The squirrel drops his nut nor dares to stay. 
When comes this band of romping girls and boys 
To wake the sleeping echoes with their noise. 

70 



THE COUNTRY SCHOOL. 7I 

Within the door the teacher's girlish face, 
Though rudely framed, withal is full of grace ; 
Her hands uplifted swing the ancient bell, 
And loud and louder doth its music swell. 
" The sun is high and school begins to-day, 
Come on, come on," its brazen tongue doth say 
To all the joyous little girls and boys 
Who wake the sleeping echoes with their noise. 

*' Come on, come on, improve your time to-day, 
No longer loiter on the way to play, 
To gather golden-rod and berries red 
To twine in wreaths about each other's head. 
Come, con your lessons o'er till school is out, 
Then make the woods resound with laugh and shout; 
Yea, wake the sleeping echoes with your noise, 
O happy hearted little girls and boys." 



CONSTANCY. 

MY heart's bereaved, I'm sorely grieved, 
All hope forever fled ; 
My loving- wife, my joy, my life, 
Is numbered with the dead. 



"A faithful mother ! not another 

Can fill her sainted place, 
Her children gaze in dread amaze 

Upon her pallid face. 

" Their dewy eyes in sad surprise 

Are lifted to mine own ; 
Their childish grief will find relief, 

While I will live to mourn. 

" To mourn her dead, her spirit fled, 
Who erst my days beguiled, 

In sorrow's vale with burdened wail, 
I'll nurse my grief — so wild, 
72 



CONSTANCY. 73 

*' My love is gone and I'm forlorn 

My aching heart will break ! 
My little son and baby one, 

I live for their sweet sake. 

** I'll shed a tear upon her bier, 

Then sadly turn away, 
Lead by the hand my orphan band, 

Nor hope a happier day." 

The willows wave above her grave, 

The branches spreading wide, 
Her little sons, her cherished ones. 

Are sleeping by her side. 

Her husband dear who shed a tear, 

And sadly turned away ; 
Who mourned his loss, a heavy cioss, 

Enjoys a happier day. 

A bonny bride is by his side, 

" T'is love's first dream," he says, 

With youth renewed a maid he wooed, 
To bless and charm his days. 



74 CONSTANCY. 

O maiden fair, do not despair, 
Should young- men tardy prove, 

A widowed heart, with Cupid's dart 
Transfixed, will seek your love. 

Throughout the laud these vows of sand 
Are made o'er woman's grave, 

But vows of sand cannot withstand 
The force of Lethe's wave. 



THE DEEP OLE MAN. 

ONCT was peert an' activ' 
An' enjoyed this mortal sp'ere ; 
But all them times is over sence 
I'm stone deef in my year. 

I could allers tell 'twas mornin', 
For the cock crowed loud an' clear, 

I didn't need no clock till hard 
Uv hearin' in my year. 

I never larned ter read or write, 

Fur schoolin' wuz so dear, 
What er comfort ef I knowed how, now 

I'm stone deef in my year. 

The worl' looks sad an' differ'nt 

No matter whar I peer, 
An' vittles don't taste natchell sence 

I'm stone deef in my year. 
75 



']6 THE DEEF OLE MAN. 

The friends that use' ter set with me 

Now quickly disappear 
When I go to the tavern, fur 
I'm stone deef in my year. 

None uv 'em likes ter scream an' bawl, 

Sometimes I drap er tear 
Fur the lonesome times I'm havin' sence 

I'm stone deef in my year. 

I don't know who's the president, 
Fur Grant is dead, I hear ; 

I've had ter drap my country sence 
I'm stone deef in my year. 

This Ian' is goin' ter catarack, 

An' politicks, I fear 
Is gittin' mightey twisted sence 

I've gone deef in my year. 

When I talk erbout er candidate 
The folks they laugh an' jeer. 

They low I aint got jedgement now 
I'm stone deef in my year. 



THE DEEF OLE MAN. 77 

An' maybe they is half way right, 

Fur eve'ything seems queer 
To er man that's hard uv hearin, when 

He's stone deef in his year. 

It won't be long I'm thinkin' 

Tell I'm laid upon my bier, 
'Twon't matter then I'm deefer than 

Er gate post in my year. 

Fur when the morn uv Jedgement breaks, 

An' Gabriel's horn I hear, 
I'll shout, fur then no longer I'll 

Be stone deef in my year. 



THE MUD CAKE. 

LITTLE drops of water, 
Little grains of sand, 
Make the dainty mud-cake 
In the baby's hand. 

Little sunbeams sifting 

From a home on high. 

And the gentle zephyrs 

Make the mud-cake dry. 

Then the little darling, 
Happy it will be ; 

Dolly '11 have a party 

Out upon the lea. 

Kitty be invited. 

Rover will be there, 
While baby will be seated 
In her wicker chair. 
78 



THE MUD CAKE. 

Thus a little mud-cake, 

Humble though it be, 

Gives an hour to baby 
Of sweet felicity. 



79 



A MISERERE. 

HEART, what means your plaint to-day, 
The skies are fair to see, 
Can tints of blue and opaline 

Give aught of pain to thee ? 

The world is kind and friends are true, 

A halcyon life is thine, 
Encased within a loyal breast 

O heart, why thus repine ? 

No hunger gnaws — no carking care — 

Nor trouble doth annoy, 
And yet the blissful present holds 

No satisfying joy. 

The warm south wind is blowing, heart, 

The rarest flowers bloom. 
And yet no glow illumes within 

Where bides a prescient gloom. 
80 



A MISERERE. 8l 

No more an alleluia sounds, 

You breathe a minor strain ; 

heart, what means your plaint to-day? 

Your mute appeal is vain. 

Your voiceless agony I feel, 

O heart, be still, beat low, 

1 fear — I know not what I fear — 

Some great impending woe ! 



A MISSION. 

ACH opportunity for good embrace, 
And live to elevate a fallen race. 
Discerning- wrong your hands may right, 

Ne'er pause to ask 
The author of the wrong — undo it ! 

Be this your task. 
We all are brothers, if we lend a hand, 
Fraternal love will dominate the land. 
82 



A CRADLE SONG. 

{Fond Nonsense.^ 

THE world is full of pictures ; but the dearest 
and the best, 
Is a mother softly crooning to the baby on her breast: 
" Go to sleep, sweet by-yo, 
Shadows creep, sweet by-yo, 
Don't you weep nor sigh-yo, — 
Hush-a-baby-by." 

With a rapt expression singing to her darling baby 

boy, 
All the cares of day are lifted, joy remains without 
alloy : 

" Hush-a-by, dear by-yo, 
Mother's nigh, dear by-yo. 
Don't, my baby, cry-yo, — 
Precious baby boy." 
83 



84 A CRADLE SONG. 

But the little sprite, resisting cradle songs, is full of 

glee, 
Crowing, dimpling, full of mischief, dancing on his 
mother's knee : 

" Sweetly rest, dear by-yo, 

On mother's breast, dear by-yo, 
'Tis birdie's nest, my by-yo, — 
B3'-yo-baby-by." 

See the mother smile responsive, as a rosebud mouth 

is kissed. 
Fold him gently to her bosom, as he shakes his tiny 
fist. 

Still she sings her " By-yo, 
Shut your little eye-yo ; 
Baby, won't you try-yo. 

To go to sleep, by-yo !" 

For a frolic he is eager, and resents the lullabies, 
Kicks and stiffens in his fury, frets and lustily he 
cries. 

" Don't you scream, dear by-yo. 
Sweetly dream, dear by-yo, 
On slumber's stream, dear by-yo, 
Hush-a-baby-by !" 



A CRADLE SONG. 85 

Thus she rocks and sings to baby, softly, sweetly 

o'er and o'er, 
With a patience unexhausted, for two weary hours 
or more. 

'* 'Tis twelve o'clock, my by-yo. 
So crows the cock, my by-yo, 
I sing and rock, my by-yo, — 
Sing and rock, by-yo." 

Ah, her loving task is over, for the curly head droops 

low. 
And the wooing notes are silent, and the rocking to 
and fro. 

" I see your eyelids close, dear. 
In slumber's sweet repose, dear, 
Be sure to sleep, not doze, dear, — 
Hush-a-baby-by." 

Bending low, the mother tucks him in his cradle 

snug and warm. 
Breathes a prayer unto the Father to protect her 
child from harm. 

No more we hear her " by-yo," 
Her crooning " lullaby-yo," 
Her soothing " hush-a-by-yo, 
Hush-a-baby-by." 



THE SUMMER GIRL. 

THE summer girl doth now unfurl 
Her banners to the breeze, 
Delsarte's chart and Ma'm'selle's Art 
Have fashioned her to please. 

Her jewels flash, she cuts a dash, 

The women may condemn; 
She little cares if she ensnares 

The hearts of all the men. 

The summer girl can deftly twirl 

Her parasol or fan, 
Can promenade in shine or shade, 

Nor freckles fear nor tan. 

The summer girl with hair a-curl. 

With frills and furbelows, 
With winning smiles and witching wiles 

Will captivate the beaux. 
86 



THE SUMMER GIRL. 8/ 

They lightly whirl this summer girl, 

Held in a close embrace, 
Soft nothings say, then glide away 

To give another place. 

This summer girl with teeth of pearl, 

This summer girl I sing, 
Wears jewels rare — yet I declare. 

Has no engagement ring ! 

Poiirquoi ? 

There's been a crash and " papa's " cash. 

And all his precious stock. 
Slid with the bank and quickly sank, 

It was a fearful shock 

The winds blow keen — this quondam queen, 

A summer girl no more — 
Now hies her home no more to roam 

Where billows lave the shore. 

This summer girl without a curl, 

"A maiden all forlorn,' 
Is learning how to milk the cow, 

"The cow with the crumpled horn " 



THE RUBICON OF YOUTH. 

WE launched a boat and were soon afloat 
When the golden sun was high, 
The dancing wavelets mirrored forth 

The beauties of earth and sky. 
They shimmered and shone with rainbow hues, 
Assuring each heart of a blissful cruise. 

Our spirits were light as the sparkling spray, 
Nor fears nor cares oppressed, 

The World — a mystical dream of youth, 
The Elysium of the blest. 

Our songs burst forth in a joyous strain. 

And our laugh rang out in a glad refrain. 

The reeds and willows that fringed the bank 
Of the Rubicon's flowing stream. 

Were swiftly reached by the oarsman Time, 

And we waked from a halcyon dream. 

The anchored boat on the western shore. 

And furled are its sails forever more ! 



THE RUBICON OF YOUTH. 89 

Life's duties await us — its toil and strife — 

With pleasures that blossom between ; 

And memory's walls will alone reflect 
The Rubicon's silvery sheen. 

Yet I love to muse as the years flit by, 

On that wondrous cruise 'neath the arching sky. 



CRY BABY, CRY. 

Dedicated to Sterling A. Wood. Jr. 

e's little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 
Mayhap you have heard of this place of 
renown, 
Mayhap you're acquaint with the dwellers therein 
Who keep up a noisy, continual din. 

He's little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 
He lifts up his voice when the sun goes down. 
You rock him and toss him, you cuddle and kiss. 
But all your caressing is taken amiss. 

He's little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 
He opens the ball with a fret and a frown ; 
The dancers are papa and mamma and nurse, 
Who dance though they scold and declare him 
perverse. 
90 



CRY BABY, CRY. 9I 

He's little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 
The pink feet are weaving beneath a white gown. 
The wee, chubby fists waving wildly about — 
In terrible temper he raises a shout. 

This little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 

Melodious melodies quickly can drown. 

From squealing and squalling the tears swiftly 

chase 
A-down his fat cheeks in a riotous race. 

Yet little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 
Behaves like a saint till the sun goes down. 
We list with delight to the googoo he sings, 
An angel of light newly reft of his wings. 

He watches the sunbeams that gaily flit in 

And crows with delight when they sparkle and 

spin. 
He tells you " bye bye," sweetly kisses his hand. 
The smartest wee baby, that dwells in the land ! 

This little Cry Baby from Cry Baby Town, 
Should close his blue eyes when the sun goes 

down, 
Should nestle his head on a fond mother's breast, 
The day is for play, but the night is for rest. 



THE OLD YEAR. 

IN a corner of a cornfield 
Where the sarsaparilla grew, 
Crouched a gaunt and senile figure, 

While the north wind nipping blew. 
I stopped, and thus accosted him : 
" Old man, what is your name ?" 
" Ungrateful mortals call me, sir, 
I say it to their shame — 
'The Shank of the Year,' 

While they laughingly jeer ; 
* The Shank of the Year,' 

While they chaffingly sneer." 
And he wiped from his faded eyes a tear. 

" When I was born the brazen bells 

Pealed forth a joyous chime, 
A royal welcome greeted me 

From Earth's remotest clime. 

92 



THE OLD YEAR. 93 

I showered the gifts on all mankind, 

A bounteous harvest smiled, 
The voice of loved ones blessed their homes, 
And weary hours beguiled. 
Now hear them jeer 
At ' the Shank of the Year,' 
And chaffingly sneer 
At ' the wrinkled old year.' " 
And he brushed from his sunken cheeks a tear, 

*' I am dying here, deserted. 

On a mound of withered leaves. 
The callous world recks not my fate, 

No pitying spirit grieves. 
Once my brow was wreathed with roses, 

Once I held a sceptred sway, 

But the end is fast approaching. 

And ungrateful mortals say : 

* 'Tis the Shank of the Year,' 
And they laughingly jeer ; 
' A dotard, we fear. 
Is the palsied old year.' " 
He tottered and fell as the words smote his ear. 



94 THE OLD YEAR. 

" Men have slighted sacred duties, 

Solemn vows remain unpaid, 
When I uttered words of warning 

They would answer, undismayed : 
' On the morrow we will hearken ; 

Wait a season,' Pleasure calls, 
We will heed the voice of Wisdom 
When the blissful Present palls. 
You are dismal and drear, 
Your look is severe, 
Your vision is blear, 
You're ' the Shank of the Year—' " 
And a sob shook the frame of the heart-broken 
seer, 

" Lo ! a stripling comes to greet them, 

One they never saw or knew. 
Outstretched arms receive him gladly 

While they pledge allegiance true. 
All forgot the tried and faithful, 

He who served them to the end. 
On a frozen mound of stubble 

Prone he lies — without a friend ; 
' The Prince draweth near, 
The joyous New Year, 



THE OLD YEAR. 95 

Why should we revere 
The Shank of the Year ? ' " 
He shivered and shook on his frozen bier. 

" Ha, ha, they deridingly laugh, 

These mortals — behold them look back ; 
Pursuing, and gaining each step, 

Father Time follows fast on my track." 
With a powerful sweep of his scythe 
Every obstacle falls as he goes, 
And the *' Shank of the Year " lieth dead — 
Unwept by the mortals, his foes. 
"The Shank of the Year " 
No longer need fear 
That mortals will jeer, 
Or deridingly sneer, 
For pulseless and still is the stricken Old Year. 



UNRECOMPENSED. 

THE painter early toiled and late to win an 
honored name ; 
The sculptor reached aloft to grave on pinnacle of 

fame ; 
The poet, scholar, statesman wrought with con- 
secrated aim. 

In time their zealous hopes were quenched, each 

aspirant expired, 
Nor one attained the distant goal his throbbing 

heart desired. 

But who avers their work was lost, their, earnest 

lives were vain ? 
Their bitter loss will ultimate in future thousands' 

gain, 
And noble effort elevates High Art to grander 

plane, 

96 



ALABAMA. 

ALABAMA, here we rest, 
By the gods divinely blest, 
Nature's largess at our feet, 
Earth and sky in beauty meet ; 
In summer's sun or winter's cold, 
Behold our blessings manifold. 

Alabama, here we rest, 
By no tyrant foe oppressed. 
Peace and plenty reign supreme, 
Life, a calm unruffled stream 
Onward flows by many an isle, 
Where sirens chant and houris smile. 

Alabama, here we rest, 
Zephyr fanned and breeze caressed, 
Roses blush from May to May, 
Mock birds sing on every spray. 
Realm of beauty, dream of bliss, 
There is no fairer land than this ! 
97 



98 ALABAMA. 

Alabama, here we rest 
Tranquilly upon thy breast. 
Here our household altars rise 
Canopied by southern skies. 
Grateful hearts hosannas raise 
In voicing Alabama's praise. 

Forced by fate's decree to roam 
Afar from friends and childhood's home, 
Where'er the clime, whate'er the scene, 
Though oceans widely roll between — 
O this shall be my last request, 
On Alabama soil to rest. 



IT IS WELL. 

WHEN the skies are tinted blue, 
And your friends are leal and true, 
When the carpet 'neath your feet 
Blossoms with the floweret sweet, 
You can say, " It is well !" 

When your heart is full of glee. 
And the birds sing blithe and free, 
When you know not ruth nor care, 
All the world is bright and fair, 
You can say, " It is well !" 

But if clouds o'erspread the sky. 
Lowering darkly from on high ; 
Peals of thunder rend the air, 
Lightning flashing here and there, 
Can you say, It is well ?" 

When your day is full of grief 
And the night brings no relief, 
99 



100 IT IS WELL. 

Friends arc fled and loved ones dead, 
Winter's frost upon your head. 
Can you say, " It is well ?" 

Tender Jesu, risen Lord, 
To thy servant faith accord, 
And when waves of Marah roll. 
To thy cross I'll moor my soul, 

And trusting say, " It is well !" 



JOHNNY-BOY. 

IVE sixteen sisters more or less, 
There's May and Sue and Nell and 
Bess, 
An' I'm the only boy you see, — 
Now don't you know it's rough on me ? 

A feller don't have time to think, 
It's " Johnny-boy, where is the ink ?" 
An' " Johnny-boy, I wish you'd go 
An' catch the horse — now don't be slow," 

It's " Johnny-boy, you're in the way, 
Please run out doors awhile an' play," 
Or " Johnny-boy, come take this note," 
When I had planned to sail a boat. 

An' if I whistle in the hall 

Why baby Lou sets up a squall. 

An' " Johnny-boy must bring her milk — " 

An' " can't you find ray spool of silk ?" 

lOI 



I02 JOHNNY-BOY. 

If I Start out to fly a kite, 
It's " cut your kindlin' up 'fore night." 
An' "John, my son," in deep bass tone, 
*' Get out your books " — it makes me groan. 

It's " wash your head and comb your face," 
An' " keep your playthings in their place." 
It's "Johnny-boy, do this, do that," 
An' " John, my son, remove your hat." 

An' " Johnny-boy, don't slam the door, 
Nor throw those peelings on the floor," 
An' "run an' fetch the doctor quick, 
For sister Sue is very sick." 

I'm erran' boy an' waitin' maid. 
Yet not a single cent I'm paid. 
I hoe and dig and drive and nurse. 
Without a copper in my purse. 

An* if I want er fishing line, 

Or pocket knife, or ball of twine. 

Those silly girls are sure to say, 

" You bought a knife the other day." 

" The fishin' lines an' twine you lose 
Would buy the ribbons that we use. 



JOHNNY-BOY. IO3 

They laugh and call me " sorrel-top," 
An' don't know when it's time to stop. 

They count the freckles on my nose, 
An' tease me when I stump my toes. 
An' yet from morn till day is done, 
It's " Johnny-boy " an' " John, my son." 

Now Ma's the only pard I've got, 
She's wo'th the whole endurin' lot, 
She knows a feller wants to play, 
An' lets him sometimes have his way. 

She makes him cookies an' jam pies, 
An' lets him bag the butterflies. 
She ties his June bugs by the legs. 
An' helps him set his turkey eggs. 

I'd run away — 'twixt you an' me — 
If 'twant for Ma, an go to sea ; 
But I'm her comfort an' her joy— 
She'd break her heart for " Johnny-boy." 

A lot er girls ain't wo'th their keep, 
But a "Johnny-boy "—he counts a heap. 



THE PASSING OF AUTUMN. 

THE sky has donned a mourning veil, 
The trees a miserere wail, 
A wintry wind is blowing chill 
O'er barren dale and frosty hill ; 
While Autumn, at its icy breath, 
Now prostrate lieth — still in death. 
In death ? Ah no, she sleeps to-night 
In cerements of dazzling white. 
She sleeps the dusky hours away, 
And dreams that Spring is on the way ; 
That birds are circling in the air. 
And breath of flowerets everywhere. 
Then Nature waves a magic wand, 
And Summer roses deck the land. 
The sportive Southland zephyrs blow, 
And butterflies flash to and fro. 
Lo ! Spring and Summer both have fled. 
And Autumn, risen from the dead, 
104 



THE PASSING OF AUTUMN. I05 

Appears in splendor, as of old, 
In sunset hues of red and gold. 
Her sleep is past, her dreams are o'er, 
The sunshine floods her prison door ; 
Its lintels fringed with golden-rod. 
While purple asters prank the sod. 
As seasons pass breathe not a sigh, 
For Nature's glories never die ! 



YANITA. 

(A Spanish Love Song.) 

WEET Yanita, 
Amorita, 
Siren by the Mexique sea, 
Whisper words of love to me. 
In our light panaza drifting, 
Fleecy moonbeams o'er us sifting, 
Silv'ry haloes circling round thee, 
With supernal light have crowned thee. 
Sefiorita, 
Sweet Yanita, 
List thee now to my guitarra 
Wooing thee with dulcet strain, 
Say not, love, my suit is vain. 
Amorita, 
Soft and low, 
Murmur, like the water's flow, 
Tender words before I go, 
io6 



YANITA. 107 



Sweet Yanita, 
Araorita, 
Ere the moon has shed its light, 
While the crested waves are white, 
Let me see the love-light glisten, 
While to blissful words I listen, 
Let ray throbbing heart rejoice 
In the music of thy voice. 
Sefiorita, 

Sweet Yanita, 
Flexile lilies bend to greet her ; 
List the wavelets plash the tune 
As we thread the deep lagoon. 
Amorita, 

Let me know. 
As the drowsy waters flow. 
If you love me, ere I go. 

Sweet Yanita, 
Amorita, 
As the bubbles to the sea, 
Love, thou art a part of me ; 
Closely nestling on my breast, 
Lips and eyes and hair caressed. 
While my kisses fall like rain, 
Words are meaningless and vain. 



I08 YANITA. 

Sefiorita, 
Sweet Yanita, 
Than the damask roses sweeter, 
Mexique maiden, I adore thee, 
Love me, love me, I implore thee. 
Amorita, 
Bliss Divine, 
Ruby lips like fragrant wine, 
Whisper " Sefior, I am thine." 



THE GOING MAN. 

FAREWELL, vain world, he's going home, 
He hears the baby cry. 
He's going home, no more to roam, 
To croon a lullaby. 
" Kerwack, kerwack," 

The baby squalls, 
" Come back, come back," 
Loud echo calls. 

Its little heart is like to break 
Since mother went away, 
Before the populace to speak 
On topics of the day. 
The crowds applaud 
And call her back. 
She does not hear 
" Kerwack, kerwack." 
109 



no THE GOING MAN. 

The tears roll down its pallid cheek 

Till dawn begins to creep, 
It sucks its fists till faint and weak, 
It sobs itself to sleep. 
" Kerwack, kerwack," 

It cries in vain, 
" Come back, come back," 
In accents plain. 

When woman's rights are other's wrongs 

Beware the baneful snare ; 
The home is where the wife belongs. 
It needs her loving care. 
" Kerwack, kerwack," 

No longer roam, 
" Come back, come back," 
To child and home. 

'Tis sad but true, the time is past 

When woman's chiefest joy- 
Is nourished by a husband's love 
And centered in her boy. 
" Kerwack, kerwack," 
The cry is vain, 
She will not hear 
The plaintive strain. 



THE GOING MAN. m 

Ah, grievous state, ah, fatal age, 

With many evils fraught, 
When clubs and social life engage 
The woman's every thought. 
" Kerwack, kerwack," 

On every hand 
" Kerwack " is heard 
Throughout the land ! 



BE GLAD AND SING. 

HAVE you a band of little ones, 
A husband kind and true, 
A cosey home in which to rest 

When daily tasks are through ? 
Then envy not the rich, the great, 
Yours is a happier estate. 

No queen who proudly sits enthroned, 
Whose vassals come and go, 

Can ever feel the sweet content 
It is your lot to know. 

With sunny heads about your knee, 

Dear heart, how happy you should be ! 

Oh, guide those little ones aright, 
With tender love and care ; 

Their woes and troubles gently soothe, 
Their childish pleasures share. 

113 



BE GLAD AND SING. 

Your smile will make their faces bright ; 
When you are kind their hearts are light. 

And do not heed the thorns that prick 

When roses strew the way ; 
Enjoy the present blissful hour 

Ere it shall pass away, 
For all is fleeting here below ; 
The circling years bring joy and woe. 

The tiny birdlings in the nest, 
When summer time has come, 

Will spread their wings and fly away 
To seek another home. 

Your lonely heart will sadly yearn, 

Their childhood days can ne'er return. 

And sorrow comes to each and all ; 

A day, and who can tell ? 
The bells that rang a merry peal 

May sound a funeral knell. 
Then count your blessings and rejoice 
With grateful heart and lifted voice. 



"3 



114 BE GLAD AND SING. 

I would not bid you force the door 
To view some future day ; 

The key in kindness is withheld — 
Your part to watch and pray. 

Be glad and sing, and leave the rest 

To Him who doeth all things best. 



IMPOTENT. 

'iTH willing- hands and a loving heart, 
When the morning sun was lifted, 
And a firm resolve to do my part, 

I have drifted, sadly drifted ; 
For the dying rays of the setting sun 
Have found me resting with work undone. 

With tired hands and an aching heart, 

Ere the noon-day sun shone o'er me, 

I had watched my failing strength depart, 

With the evening still before me ; 

And the dying rays of the setting sun 

Behold unfinished the work begun. 

With folded hands and a saddened heart, 
I have seen the day declining, 

Mine eyes grow dim as the tear-drops start 
And I cannot still repining ; 

For the dying rays of the setting sun 

Reveal my life work still undone. 

"5 



Il6 IMPOTENT. 

O nerveless hands and O stricken heart, 

Though blight of disease is o'er you, 

Though dark the night and the time seems long, 
Yet heaven is just before you, 

The work will be done though you stand and wait, 

When you enter at last the golden gate. 

Be patient, hands, and be true, O heart. 

And wait for the heavenly warning, 

Your earnest purpose will be revealed 

In the light of a blessed morning, 

And myriad voices proclaim as one, 

The welcome plaudit, " Well done, well done !" 



BRAIN CHILDREN. 

THE Mother Brain, through tidal ebb and flov/ 
Of vasty years, sends forth for weal or woe 
Brain children, peopling thick the universe. 
Some puling pygmies die still-born. Some live 
To view a second summer, then expire. 
Some linger on, but, dwarfed by cold neglect, 
Or damning doubt, or poorly nourished by 
A disapproving world, discouraged die. 
Some drift as derelicts on idle waves. 
Some cunning charlatans impose false creeds 
That for a time delude and lead astray. 
Some hiss as vipers, poisoning the air ; 
Anathemas are hurled that vitriol-like 
Sear tender flesh as with corroding fire. 
Some seeds of strife and deadly discord sow ; 
With naked sword in hand, while at their heels 
Are war dogs licking drops of human blood. 
Some scatter seeds of love that fructify 
The smiling earth with goodness and good-will, 

117 



Il8 BRAIN CHILDREN. 

While white-robed Peace, a messenger of light, 

Diffuses benedictions o'er the world. 

Some giants in their strength and power sway 

The fickle populace ; dynasties fall, 

Or toppling thrones uprise at their command. 

Immortal some ; the principles of truth 

Imbedded in their souls, like vital spark 

Translated into heaven, can never die ! 

The earth may pass, the glowing stars burn out, 

World upon world dissolve and fall to dust, 

Yea, yonder heaven like parchment roll, but fixt 

Upon a granite rock of truth they stand, 

Immutable as deity itself ! 



MY LOVE. 

MY love is like a lily bud 
Unfolding to the light ; 
Her graces, like the petals fair, 
Distill a fragrance rich and rare ; 
She fills my heart. 
She thrills my heart, 

This dainty, winsome sprite. 

Her eyes are like the violet 

So modest, yet so bright ; 

The fringed lids sweep o'er a cheek 

Where dimples play at hide and seek ; 

Those eyes of blue. 

So leal and true. 

That thrill me with delight. 
119 



120 MY LOVE. 

The vermeil lips carnations are, 

With morning dew empearled ; 

Sweet arching lips that smile and pout, 

Or merrily a laugh rings out ; 

A maiden fair, 

A flow'ret rare, 

Unspotted by the world. 

Her goldilocks are deftly twined 

Round fingers fair to view, 

Then lightly fall in wealth of curl. 

That sets a throbbing heart awhirl. 

Ah, little girl, 

With hair acurl, 

I love you fond and true. 

I fain would pluck this virgin bloom 

And wear it 'gainst my heart ; 

Life's clouds would shine with silver light. 

And love would cheer the darksome night ; 

Her hand in mine. 

Ah, bliss divine. 

To love and ne'er to part ! 



AN APPARITION. 

I MET a timid maid yestreen 
Who blushed a conscious red, 
Together smote my knees with fear, 
I shook with inward dread. 

A spook, a spook ! I cried aghast, 
No modern maid doth wear 

Such gentle mien — I crossed myself 
And breathed a silent prayer. 

With quaking limbs I turned and fled, 
Scarce knowing were I live or dead ! 

121 



TRUE GREATNESS. 

IF laureled heroes could eliminate 
All pride of heart, and let the gentle grace 
Of sweet humility supply its place, 
The noble deeds performed were doubly great. 

In pride and self laudation we behold 
The dross refiners separate from gold. 



122 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

DBDICATBD TO MY DEAR FRIEND, MAKY STRUDWICK NICOLSOM. 

THE sunshine faded from the room, 
Nor left a ray of hope or light ; 
And grewsome shadows entered in 
As twilight deepened into night. 
From out the solemn silence stole 
In whispered words, "■ The child is dead !' 
An awesome hush fell like a pall 
On watchers g^ithered round the bed. 

And art thou dead, my fairest one ? 
My heart can never call thee dead — 
The little hands I hold in mine, 
As thou art resting on thy bed. 
Will clasp my face when morning light 
Has wakened thee from thy sweet sleep ; 
Yet tears unbidden fill mine eyes. 
And loving friends around me weep. 
123 



124 I^E PROFUNDIS. 

Beneath the sheet and snowy spread 
Each night I fold thee from my sight ; 
On downy pillow couch thy head, 
Thy form arrayed in robes of white. 
I print a kiss upon thy brow, 
And view, as now, thy sleeping face — 
So innocent and free from guile. 
So full of sweet, unconscious grace. 

At early dawn the mock-bird's lay 
Will break the stillness and the gloom ; 
The sunlight of another day 
Dispel the shadows from the room. 
The singing of the joyous bird 
Will rouse thee from untroubled sleep ; 
Yet tears unbidden fill mine eyes, 
And loving friends around me weep. 

I cannot call thee dead, my child, 
Though icy cold thy little frame — 
I plead with thee in accents wild 
To speak again thy mother's name. 
O Lord, thou know'st a mother's love ! 
Dear Lord, let this cup pass, I pray ; 
And when this weary night is o'er 
My child awaken with the day 



DE TROFUNDIS. I25 

Gethsemane ! Gethsemane ! 

That comes at last to each and all — 

With sobbing cries and breaking heart 

Within thy stony gates I fall. 

I prostrate lie, and there behold 

The drops of mortal agony 

That from the brow of Jesus rolled 

In garden of Gethsemane. 

" Let this cup pass :" I hear the words 

That broke upon the solemn night — 
" Yet not ray will, but thine be done," 

And all his fears took instant flight. 

And here a light breaks on my soul, 

A light supernal and divine ; 

With trembling lips I breathe the words 
" Thy will be done, O Lord, not mine." 

I would not call thee back, my child, 
My loss is thy eternal gain ; 
Secure from sin and sorrow's thrall. 
And every doubt and fear and pain. 
Be still, my heart, repine no more, 
Let tears no longer dim mine eyes ; 
This pilgrimage will soon be o'er, 
My child will live — beyond the skies. 



126 DE PROFUNDIS. 

We'll meet again in realms above, 
This sleep of death will soon be o'er ; 
In Jesus' arms, where all is love, 
Thou'lt wake upon a fairer shore. 
Beyond the gloom and dreary night 
For me a blessed day be born ; 
A thousand suns shall shed their light 
To greet that resurrection morn ! 



MY LADY AND I. 

FOR a year and a day I must tarry away ; 
'Twas the will of my lady, of her I loved 
best. 
With a sorrowful heart when she bade me depart, 
I was fain to submit, it was vain to protest. 
A year and a day 
I must tarry away, 
Alack a-day, sadly 
I hear and obey. 

Not for honor or fame, nor to gain a great name 
Did my lady decree that I leave her alone. 

My affection to prove, and the strength of my love, 
By this means she declared would be perfectly 
shown. 

For a year and a day 
I must tarry away, 
Alack a-day, sadly 
I hear and obey. 
127 



128 MY LADY AND I. 

With a tear in her eye and a sobbing good-bye, 
She bade me " God speed" as the ship sailed away. 
" I'll be faithful and true as the stars unto you," 
She whispered to me, but no word could I say. 
A year and a day, 
Would it e'er roll away ? 
Alack a-day, sadly 
I hear and obey. 

For a year and a day I had tarried away 
Not a message nor line from my lady to me. 

A wand'rer no more on a lone, distant shore, 
I brought my fair bride home from over the sea. 
Alack a-day, well-a-day, 
What shall I say ? 
To her who was constant 
A year and day ! 

Ah, my fears are at rest though I stood not the test 
That my lady imposed for a year and a day : 

She is wooed, won and wed, with a stranger she 
fled, 
To escape my reproaches she hastened away. 
Alack a-day, well-a-day. 
What shall we say ? 
When neither was constant 
A year aod a ds^y \ 



LIFE. 

BEHOLD lis toiling- up a mountain side, 
Its summit we attain ; 
Then with increasing impetus descend, 
And breathless reach the plain. 

And so the steeps of life are slowly passed, 

Until its zenith won, 
Adown its slopes we glide — its years like trees 

Flit by — and life is done. 
129 



THREE IS A CROWD. 

THE first sweet kiss, 
Where is the harm ? 
The tender pressure 

Of an arm ; 
Two heads drooped low, 

One hand caressed, 
A sunny head 
Upon your breast. 

The maid no more 
Is just the same ; 
And you and she 

Must share the blame. 
From off a peach 

You lightly brush 
Its greatest charm, 
The downy blush. 
130 



THREE IS A CROWD. 131 

But if you claim 

The maid or peach, 
No need such 

Platitudes to preach. 
Another's counsel 

You despise, 
Deeming your course 

Exceeding wise. 

You'll work your own 

Sweet will I ween. 
And let no meddler 

Come between. 



WOMANHOOD. 

BY airs ^olian wooed, so softly sweet, 
The folded bud becomes the full blown rose ; 
Its clinging, blushing petals open wide, 
And all the secrets of its heart disclose. 

Not so the human flower ; the woman's heart 
Holds something sacred, from the world apart. 

132 



INFELICE. 

THEY say the skies are tinted blue, 
And flecked with clouds of lovely hue ; 
That flowers of every color blow 
From brilliant shades to purest snow ; 
That butterflies dip here and there, 
Like fairies flitting through the air ; 
A winding streamlet flows to meet 
The velvet sward beneath my feet ; 

The dazzling orb is screened from view 
By grateful shade of emerald hue ; 
A sparkling rainbow spans the sky. 
Its varied colors please the eye. 
All nature glows with beauties rare ; 
No other charms with hers compare. 
She deftly paints, with artist hand, 
Bright pictures to adorn the land. 
133 



134 INFELICE. 

Alas for me ! a little mound, 
With ivy crowned, in hallowed ground ; 
A shrouded form, a pallid face 
That erst was full of childish grace. 
With floating curls on sunny head, 
Now resting with the silent dead — 
These things I see, through mist of tears 
That deepens with the coming years — 
Ah, woe is me ! 

The dimpled hands across the breast 
Are folded peacefully to rest. 
The fringed lids o'er eyes of blue, 
And cherub lips of coral hue. 
Like chiseled marble — cold and white — 
Shut out all nature from my sight. 
These things I see, through mist of tears 
That deepens v/ith the coming years — 
Ah, woe is me ! 

They say the bird with velvet throat 
Delights to trill a blithesome note ; 
That maiden fair with matin lay 
Trips joyfully along her way ; 
That merry sleigh-bells chiming say, 
" Away with care, the world is gay !" 



INFELICE. 135 

And light hearts laugh with childish glee 
At sound of lively minstrelsy ; 

That raindrops patter on the pane, 
In tinkling-, musical refrain ; 
That purling streams in rhythmic flow 
Forever on their journey go ; 
Sweet echo catches every strain 
And gives the music back again, 
While harmony unites the spheres, 
As on they roll through endless years. 

Alas for me ! I strain mine ear 
For music I no longer hear. 
The pattering steps of twinkling feet. 
And silv'ry laughter, clear and sweet ! 
The prattle of a baby tongue, 
As sweet as song by seraph sung ! 
No other music charms mine ear, 
No other sounds I care to hear. 
Ah, woe is me ! 

Alas for me ! I strain mine ear 
For music I no longer hear. 
A lisping voice that said " Good-night, 
God keep mamma till morning light." 



136 INFELICE. 

The morrow brings no baby kiss 
To fill an aching heart with bliss ; 
No other music charms mine ear, 
No other sounds I care to hear. 
Ah, woe is me ! 



A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 

" y^~^OME here, my little son, and see 
\^^ What God has given you and me 
A tiny baby fair and sweet 

With dimpled hands and cunning feet. 
It won't be long ere he can play 

And frolic with you every day." 

But Eddie sadly shook his head, — 
The tear-drops fell upon his coat, — 

Then sobbing audibly he said, 
" I'd rather had er billy goat." 
137 



THE IMPOSSIBLE. 

THE woman who essays to pose 
As maiden blithe and fair, 
A debutante with girlish charms, 

Is destined to despair. 
A futile task she undertakes, 

As well expect the rose 
Whose petals are expanded wide, 
Into a bud to close. 
138 



MABEL'S GRACE. 

SIT Up, little Kitty, 
Now kneel your head down, 
Keep 'till as a mousie, 
Don't wriggle or frown. 

We are goin' to say grace 
For this party — now then, 

O Lord, make us graceful, 
For Chris' sake, amen. 
139 



" HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL." 

WHY need your heart repine and fret 
If cares beset, 
And say your life is sad and drear ? 

Be patient, dear, 
" He doeth all things well." 

Why trouble if the path be steep, 

And sadly weep 
When thorns and briers strew the way ? 

Be brave, and say, 
" He doeth all things well." 

If slander's arrows wound thy heart 

With poisoned dart. 
The sting may sear, but do not fear. 

Remember, dear, 
" He doeth all things well." 
uo 



" HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL. I4I 

If sorrow's wings of dusky hue 

Sweep over you, 
And drive away the light of day, 

Though stricken, say, 
" He doeth all things well." 

The trials that your soul oppress 

And sore distress, 
Are sent as blessings in disguise 

By One, all-wise, 
Who " doeth all things well." 

For He who suffered on the tree 

For you and me. 
Will strengthen you in hour of need, 

O fragile reed ! 
" He doeth all things well." 

Be patient, dear, a loving arm 

Doth shield from harm, 
He leads you on in paths aright 

To endless light ! 
'^ He doeth all things well." 



THE WEEPING WILLOW. 

BEHOLD, all nature throbs with joy ; 
O weeping willow, lift your head, 
Your drooping branches upward raise 
And mourn no more your sainted dead. 

The azure clouds above you sail ; 

The ivies twine about your feet ; 
The flowers in rich profusion bloom 

And fill the air with odors sweet. 

The tender winds are wooing you, 

Your slender leaves they lightly blow ; 

The birds among your branches sing. 
And butterflies flit to and fro. 

The deepest grief must be assuaged ; 

No heart-sobs well for aye and aye : 
Like Niobe, you weeping stand. 

And sadly mourn your life away. 
142 



THE WEEPING WILLOW. 

What ties of kinship bind to you 
The mould'ring dust of mortal clay ? 

Though man forgets to grieve, you chant 
A threnody from day to day. 

O weeping willow, lift your head, 
Your drooping branches upward raise, 

Behold all nature throbs with joy. 
And sings thanksgiving songs of praise. 



143 



TEDDY. 

(the mither.) 

" >^^CH Teddy alanna, would ye lave me alone, 
Y^y Who'll comfort the mither when Teddy is 
gone ? 
Me nabors they call ye a broth o' a bhoy, 
An' I'm fra to declare ye me darlin' an' jhoy. 

" Och, sphake to me, Teddy, are ye wanthin' to die ? 
Och Father O'Day, on ye prayers I rely. 
It's the faver that's schalded the brain o' the lad, 
Since the starlin' flew past, it has raged vary bad. 

" Och Teddy asthore, I'm the one to be tuck, 
I'm ould an' so fable, och bother the luck ! 
Yore chakes are so red an' yore eyes are so bright, 
But yore pore little forrum it weighs not a mite. 

" It's a skilliugton bhoy that I hold to me heart, 
Brace up, me own darlin' ; O how kin I part 

144 



TEDDY. 145 

Wid the little sick kid an' be lift all alone 
To fight the col' worruld as hard as a stone ?" 

(the sick kid.) 
Then up stharted Teddy an' laid his thin hand 
On the chake o'the mither — '* ain't ye got iny sand 
In ye craw, that ye snivel an' take on so bad ? 
Lots o' folks hav' got well fwhat was thin as a shad." 

(father o'day.) 
" An' Teddy was right an' the mither was wrong, 
In a vary few weeks he was hearthy and sthrong. 
In swimmin' an' fightin' he could not be bate, 
An' no bhoy in the warrd was so activ' an' flate. 

" If ye quistion the lad as to fwhat made him sick, 
' Pisen thruck from the docther,' he'll answer ye 

quick. 
Not a worrud o' grane apples he ate by the score, 
Nor o' chaze that he begged from the ghrocery 

sthore. 

" Nor o' hours in the sun as a pitcher in ball, 
Faix none o' these things will he mintion at all. 
Och Teddy asthore is a thrifle too wild, 
Though his mither belaves him an ilegant child. 



146 TEDDY. 

" But mithers are bloind as bats that can't see, 
An' Teddies are thick as the laves on a three. 
Should he live to be ould, he may make a foine man, 
For bhoys have been bhoys since the worruld began. 

"Though ye may not belaveit, I'm tillin' the 

thruth— 
I wanst was a bhoy mesilf in my youth. 
Though to sphake me own praise I was niver a han', 
Yit Father O'Day is a power in the Ian'." 



THE DOMAIN OF THOUGHT. 

BEYOND an avenue where silence reigns, 
Engirt by stately oaks and elms, is hid 
A palace whose dusk turrets cleave the sky. 
Within its walls, in chambers isolate, 
Is found the sober dwelling place of Thought. 
It there abides and rears its brood of young, 
And there through winding corridors they sport ; 
With Truth play hide and seek, now seen, now 

sought, 
Or soaring forth they reach Parnassian heights 
To revel in serene, idyllic joys ; 
Then stooping to the famed Pierian spring 
They from its mossy mouth quaff crystal draughts. 
Upon the gauzy wings of Fancy borne 
They float aloft in unalloyed delight ; 
And thus their halcyon youth in idlesse passed, 
They quit their dim retreat, their sombre sphere, 
Trooping into the garish light of day, 
And to a world that lists with bated breath, 
Rehearse the charms their favored eyes beheld. 

147 



DARKY DIALECT. 



DE OLE SEXTON. 

B RUDDER Amos is de sexton 
An' rings de Zion bell, 
To warn de saints an' sinners 
Dat destruction leads to hell. 

He's de bass an' tenor singer, 
An' kin beat de frogs in June ; 

Fur at all distracted meetin's 
He's de fust ter h'ist de chune. 

Oh, his mouf it wucks on hinges, 
He kin sing de hymn book fru, 

When he leads de people follows 
Like de sheeps de shepherd do. 

When he prays er pra'r fur sinners 
He kin e'enmost raise de roof ; 

You kin hear de shingles rattle 
When he frunders out de troof 
151 



152 DE OLE SEXTON. 

How de debbil on de steeple 
Knows jess whar de wicked sit, 

Ef dey don'l ruin' out he'll cotch 'em 
Jess as shore ez holy writ. 

" Don't you see his white teef shinin', 
An' his red eyes snappin' 'roun ? 
An' he's grinnin' like er possum 
On de sinners dat he's foun'. 

" When he jumps down 'mongst dese benches 

Den de wool an' fur will fly, 
So repent uv all yore meanness, 

Or he'll git you by-um-by. " 

Oh, dis good ole anglo sexton 

Is er bright an' shinin' light. 
An' he'll shout right inter Glory 

Jess like Enock tuck his flight. 

Den de gates will swing wide open. 
An' de angels dey will sing, 
" Here comes Amos, de ole sexton, 
Let der harps an' timbers ring. 

"Here's de crown awaitin', Amos, 

Hang yore hat up on er nail ;" 
Fur de promise ter de righteous, 

It am nebber gwine ter fail. 



TOBY'S REPLY. 

OTOBY was a darky who could pick the banjo 
fine, 
And he could cut the pigeon-wing and give your 
boots a shine, 
waited on the students at the Uni-var-si-tee, 
And at any kind of devilment was quick as quick 
could be. 

Not only versed in devilment, but also repartee, 

For the laugh was on the student of the Uni-var- 
si-tee 

Who passed him on the stoop amid a crowd of boys 
one day. 

And out of fun accosted him — " O hello, Tobe, I 
say — 

" What are you going to do when Satan gets you by 

and by ?" 
" Wait on de students, Massa," he promptly made 

reply. 

153 



THE OLD MAMMY. 

{A Darky Lullaby.) 

usH, HI baby, en go ter sleep, 

Mammy gwine tell him tales er heap. 
Mammy gwine sing him songs ernuff, 
Jess let Mammy git er dip uv snuff. 
O what make yer holler lak dat ? 
Jess look at ole brindle cat, 
Jumpin' en kervortin', sniffin' en snortin', 
Caze she done kotch er rat. 

Did HI baby git snuff in its eye ? 
Shet dem peepers en don' you cry. 
You's plum wo'd out, you runs all day, 
En don' do nuffin but eat en play. 

O how come you holler lak dat 1 

Patty cake er baker's pat, 
De cat lick her chops, fur she eat up de rat, 

Patty cake er baker's pat. 
154 



THE OLD MAMMY. 155 

Hush, lil baby, Mammy's lil man 
Gwine ter be president uv dis Ian', 
Lil bar haid gwine w'ar er crown, 
Stop dat kickin' 'fore I put yer down. 

what make yer twis' on my lap ? 
Ef yer don' min', I let yer drap ; 

Now you is yawnin' en ginnin' ter gap, 

1 speck yer gwine take yer nap. 

Now lil baby kin lie in his crib, 
Les' unbutton dis ole wet bib. 
Don' you picaninnies make no fuss, 
Or I'll lay I'll make yer git up en dus*. 
Mammy's lil man is fas' ter sleep, 
Mammy sho lubs dis chile er heap ; 
O she lubs dis chile twixt me en you 
Er heap sight mo' dan his Mudder do ! 



DE 'LECTION SURE. 

DE white folks low dat dey's de race 
What's gwine ter win de day, 
Dat hebben wan' made fur colored folks 
Dat shout en sing en pray, 

I'm gwine ter argify de case, 

En show widout er doubt, 
Dat we will walk dem golden streets. 

En facks will b'ar me out. 

Den let de white man 'joy de quails 

En mammon by hisse'f. 
We'll eat de husks — but jedgement day 

Will fin' de white man lef. 

Fur tell me dis, you ornry set 
What mos' has gone ter sleep, 

Ain't de nigger wid his kinky wool 
Mos' kin ter Mister Sheep ? 
156 



DE 'lection sure. 1 57 

Ob cose he is — dese woolly haids 

Wid woolly sheep will stan', 
En de white man wid de Billy Goat 

Be ranged at de lef han'. 

Stop puttin' b'ar grease on yer haid 

Ter comb de kinks out straight, 
Fur dese same woolly haids will kear 

You saf't th'ough Peter's gate. 



A RAT TRAP. 

NCT erbout de hour uv midnight, stealin' chick- 
ens by de dim light 

Uv de moon dat shone widin de cracks erbout de hen- 
house door ; 

Whilst dera chickens squawked en fluttered, sud- 
dently er yell I uttered, 

" Debbil's got me shore," I muttered, fur er rat trap 
on de floor 

Snapped my jaybird heel en helt it, den I started 
fur de door ; 
Darkness dar, en nothin' more. 

Fur de moon giv' light no longer, but dat pain wuz 

gittin' stronger, 
En I tore eround dat hen-house, in de dark I'd los' 

de door ; 
Suddently it swung wide open, en erfore er word wuz 

spoken, 

158 



A RAT TRAP. 1 59 

Ev'y j'int I had wuz broken, being yanked erbout de 

floor. 
Den dat white man to de lock-up marched me from 

his hen-house door — 
Jest fur stealin', nothin' more. 

In dat cell I still am sittin', chewin' en tobacco 
spittin', 

Honin' fur dem fat young pullets drapt erpon de hen- 
house floor ; 

Killin' flies en 'skeeters shooin', O, dat trap wuz my 
undoin', 

Dragged me 'long de road to ruin, en my heel am 
stiff en sore. 

When dis nigger nex' goes stealin', he'll look out fur 
rat traps shore, 
En step on 'em— nebber more. 



A WRONG INFERENCE. 

«« "T X THY, old Uncle Abe, if your tidings are true, 

Y Y An era of progress is dawning for j'ou. 
They were plowing you say, without horse or man ? 
The world is advancing as fast as it can I 

" No horny hands holding the plow will be found, 
No * gee up ' and ' haw there,' in tilling the ground — 
A motor electric, to furrow the land, 
An underground current, as I understand." 

" Why, boss, sir, I t'inks you has made er mistake. 

Plowin' like dat, sir, would sho' take de cake ; 

But you's wrong in yore 'elusions, — I seed it, you 

know, — 
Twas er ox an' er 'omau dat made de plow go." 

1 60 



A PLANTATION SCENE. 

Now all you picaninnies dar, come stan' up in er 
row — 
Say whar is Sukey's Bill en Bob, en Sally Ann's 

black Joe ? 
Dey is slappin' sides en runnin' — now what fur is yer 

late ? 
Go back, erfore I knock yer down, en shet de gyar- 
din' gate. 

* Don't let me see yer wink er blink, don't nair one 

bat his eye ; 
I'll be back in er jiffy wid yer vittles by en by." 
Dey keep er lookin' stiddy et de long en narrer 

trough, 
Not er nigger wunk or showed his teef, er dared to 

sneeze er cough. 

i6x 



1 62 A PLANTATION SCENE. 

Den Granny from de kitchen brung pot-liquor in er 

pot, 
En po'ed it in de empty trough, — 'twas jes* er bilin' 

hot ! 
Den she tuck de fat corn dodgers en crumbled uv 

'em up, 
En 'lowed de little picanins could corae up dar en 

sup. 
Den dey all cut de pigeon wing, en squatted on de 

groun', 
While granny tuck her battlin' stick en stirred de 

liquor roun' ; 
She gib de sign fur startin' when she counted, " One 

two, free," 
En er gang uv little hongry nigs wuz happy ez could 

be. 

Dey'd ben' der haids en swill it, en you'd hear one 

raise er shout, 
When his black ban's foun' er dodger, en he'd 

proudly pull it out, 
Depresen' time don' tech de happy days er long ergo. 
When I wuz onc't er little nig, en stood up in dat 

row. 



UNCLE JAKE AND THE LEVEE. 

" Bredderin an' Sister in — 

^^T| — vE Lord holps dem dat holps deyselves. 
II Berlievin' dis tex' I toils an' delves, 
I makes my famberly chop an' hoe, 
An' you allers sees my cotton grow. 
When water kivers de face uv de yearf, 
I'm not er preachin' de secon' birf, 
I rolls up my breeches an' wades erbout, 
Buildin' er levee ter keep it out. 

*' De Lord stooped down an' said in my year, 
'Yo' crap is saved, Jake, nebber fear,' 
My tex' ter day is de Lord holps dose 
Dat holps deyselves, ez 5^ou all knows. 
Jess wuck an' pray, lak yer parstcr do, 
An' faif an' wucks will ca'y you fru. 
Yo' corn will sprout an' yo' cotton grow, 
An' yo' levee will keep out de oberflow." 
163 



164 UNCLE JAKE AND THE LEVEE. 

But just at this moment a form appeared 

In the door of the church, and a cry was heard, 

*' De levee's dun bus', an' de fiel's er lake, 

An' dere ain't nuffiin lef dat b'longed ter Jake !" 

Jake took off his glasses and stood like a stone, 

His faith was shattered, religion gone ; 

He glanced at his tittering flock and said. 

To the man in the aisle, as he scratched his head 

" Ef de crap is all ruint an' 'stroyed dat way, 
Atter dis nigger done wuck an' pray, 
Ef de Lord's dun dat, I tell yer, sir, 
He ain't de man what I tuck him fur !" 



THE DESCENT OF THE AERONAUT. 

A GANG of darkies, hoeing corn one day, 
Beheld a something huge that caused dis- 
may ; 
Above their heads it tumbled round and round. 
Then with a mighty flap it sought the ground. 

A great balloon it was — each darky fled— 
Fearing the monstrous thing would strike him dead ; 
All save old crippled Joe, whose gait was slow, 
He tripped and fell his length across a row. 

Out stepped the Aeronaut, most gaily dressed 
With red and tinsel broidered cap and vest. 
Joe struggled to his feet in mortal dread, 
His rolling eyes were starting from his head. 

His stiff, rheumatic knees together smote, 
He shuffled to a distance more remote, 
Then quaking said, while filled with reverent awe, 
" Good-mornin', Massa Jesus, how's yer Paw' ?" 

165 



POMP'S DEFENSE. 

I STOLE dem breeches, I 'knowledge de corn, 
But 'twarn't no crime, ez sure ez you're born ; 
Ef de motiv' is right, den whar's de sin ? 
I stole dem breeches ter be baptize' in. 

For my onliest pa'r wuz clean wored out, 
Dey gib up de ghos' when I 'gun ter shout. 
But r'ligion is mighty en mus' pervail, 
Doit lands er darky in de county jail. 

De chain-gang's got me en de coal mines too. 
But what could er 'fenceless, colored man do, 
When de jedge en jury lowed it wuz sin 
Ter steal dem breeches ter be baptize' in. 

Tell de folks all howdy en good-bye too, 
ril meet 'em in hebben when my wuck is fru, 
Fur my heart is white, do my skin is black, 
En I'm gwine ter trabble de shinin' track. 

i66 



pomp's defense. 167 

When de Lawd is jedge, I kno' He gwine sa5% 
" Pomp's straight ez er shingle en fair ez de day." 
He'll shout ter de worl' dat it twan't no sin 
Ter steal dem breeches ter be baptize' in. 



THE DARKY'S HEAVEN. 

ODis worl' am full ob trouble, 
But dar's one beyant de skies, 
E£ we walks de narrer pafway 

We will Ian' dar when we dies. 
En we'll be dar when we gits dar 

Ef I don't make no mistake, 
Wid its streets all paved wid glory, 
It will sho-li take de cake. 

Dar de crysteal streams er flowin' 

Make de watermilions grow, 
Dar de tuckeys gobble, gobble, 

En de chickens all roos' low. 
En we'll be dar when we gits dar 

Ef I don't make no mistake, 
Fur ter wa'r dem golden slippers. 

Dey will sho-li take de cake. 
i68 



THE darky's heaven. 169 

Dar'll be possum stew en taters, 

'Nough fur all en some ter spar', 
Wid er crown en wings er waitin', 

Dat de colored angels w'ar. 
En we'll be dar when we gits dar 

Ef I don't make no mistake, 
Floppin' wings en shoutin' glory, 

O 'twill sho-li take de cake. 

Good ole Uncle Ned is sawing 

On his fiddle wid his bow — 
En we'll see de shining faces, 

Nellie Grey en ole black Joe, 
Fur we'll be dar when we gits dar, 

Ef I don't make no mistake, 
O de hebben ob de darky. 

It will sho-li take de cake. 



PARS DE HAT EROUN'. 

a -| — ^ F yer wants ter gain de kingdom," 

t~^ Said de preacher, gazin' 'roun', 
" Wants ter reach dat home in glory 

Whar we lays our burdens down, 
Pay ertention ter dis message, 

An' dat hebbenly city see, 
Gib yer heart to Gawd Ermighty, 

An' yer pocket-book ter me ! 

" Don't be no wise disencouraged 
Ef de stony way is long. 
Pars de hat eroun' my brudders 

Whiles we sing ernudder song. 
Ef yer lows ter git religion, 

Specks salvation full an' free, 
Gib yer heart to Gawd Ermighty, 
An' yer pocket-book ter me ! 
170 



PARS DE HAT EROUN'. I/I 

" Hear de words uv Cap'n Jesus, 

' Lay not treasures up on earf, 
Make er liber'l, large collection, 

An' receib de secon' birf. 
When de dimes an' nickels jingle 

Den we'll shout er jubilee. 
Gib yer heart ter Gawd Ermighty, 

An' yer pocket-book ter me ! 

"Gib it all — an' don't begredge it — 

Don't be holden' eny back, 
Sackerfices must be offered 

When we walks de narrer track 
Pars de hat erlong de benches, 

Pars it slow, so all kin see, 
Gib yer heart ter Gawd Ermighty, 

An' yer pocket-book ter me !" 



THE END. 



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" Miss Gardner's works are becoming more and more popular every year, and thev 
will continue to be popular long after many of our present favorite writers are forgotten. 

Stolen Waters. (In verse). Rich Medway. 

Broken Dreams. Do. A Woman's Wiles. 

Compensation. Do. Terrace Roses. 

A Twisted Skein. Do. Seraph— or Mortal ? 

Tested. Won Under Protest. (New). 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 

CAPTAIN MAYNE REID'S WORKS. 

" Captain Mayne Reid's works are of an intensely interesting and fascinating charactCT. 
Nearly all of them being founded upon some historical event, they possess a permanent 
value while presenting a thrilling, earnest, dashing fiction surpassed by no novel of the day." 

The Sc^.lp Hunters. The Rifle Rangers. The Headless Horseman 

The War Trail. The Wood Rangers. The Wild Huntress. 

The Maroon. The Rangers and Regulators. The White Chief. 

The Tiger Hunter. The Hunter's Feast. Wild Life. 

Osceola, the Seminole. The Quadroon. The White Gauntlet. 
Lost Lenore. 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 



All the books on this list are handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold 
everywhere, and by mail, postage free, on receipt of price by 

G. W. Diliingham Co., Publishers, 

^33 West 23d Street, K'ew York. 




^^ °'= 897 598 , 




^M. 



